


Alpha Rats Nest

by haemophilus



Series: Transcendental Youth [6]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Delusional and Psychotic Thought Processes, Drug Addiction, Gen, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Stream of Consciousness, Substance Abuse, Taking the Dicktowel Show Way Too Seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 06:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12315708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemophilus/pseuds/haemophilus
Summary: When Charlie was 21, Mac promised him that their drug bender would be nothing like Trainspotting.





	Alpha Rats Nest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatsupbitches (Larkin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkin/gifts).



> The not-awaited threequel to Carry Me Down the Street and Everybody Loves a Winner. This story is VERY dependent on both, so you do need to read them first.
> 
> Fair warning that the style of this fic is intentionally very jarring. I will forgive you 100% if you backspace out of the tab immediately. But if you do give it a chance, thank you. Fiddling with this story has consumed my waking days. Whether it works or not, I will leave the reader to decide.
> 
> CW for drug abuse/addiction, mentions of CSA and rape, homelessness, dissociation, psychosis, minor character death, parental neglect, and general 20-something struggles. 
> 
> Thanks to whatsupbitches for enabling this. You may be the only person who ever cares about it and I am so grateful that at least one person did.
> 
> This series is getting stupid long.

_Do every stupid thing that makes you feel alive._ – Amy AKA Spent Gladiator 1

*

Mac paced back, forth, back, forth, red-eyed (crying or high?) and crunch of his shoes on the carpet. An echoing voice. Bag filled with rubber cement. Breathe in out like scuba gear crunch, crunch (bones breaking in a shark’s teeth from the tv channel with the sign of the earth, started with a D or maybe a B).

-Charlie are you listening to me?

In, out, bag crinkling like an instrument, the one that squeezes, Weird Al played ‘Eat It’ and Charlie and Mac laughed but Mac wasn’t laughing now, his eyes were red and he was pacing.

-Totally, dude.

No more crunching. Hands on hips (like his mom, he needed to do laundry but he hadn’t answered her calls so his shirt was dirty).

-What was I talking about?

Red eyes and he wasn’t laughing, Happy Gilmore had been on TV today or yesterday but he sold it to pay the rent (wasn’t enough). _Oh._

-Something about you getting kicked out of your apartment?

Face buried in hands (where did that come from?), not his mom or dad or Charlie or anyone he knew. Maybe TV? But he’d sold it.

-If Dolores would just wait even a week. . .

Crunch, crunch. Pacing. Red eyes, sad eyes. Too worked up to be high. Needed to be laughing but he wasn’t. _The price is wrong, bitch._

-There’s no way I can sell all of those drugs by tomorrow. I’m fucked. I’m so fucked.

Another huff. Killing Charlie’s buzz (a buzzkill ha which Mac had always been called when he ratted people out, Ronnie the Rat strikes again).

-Calm down, dude. Huff this.

Deep breath. Loose shoulders. Thin body fell on the couch, bounce, bounce as the furniture adjusted.

-I figured out the answer to all of my problems.

Smooth high, jazz in his ears, exhale.

-That’s great! How?

Feverish, grasping eyes, fading red, screaming - third option. _Not suicide_ , they had a pact but Charlie wasn’t ready to go, not when his glue high was so good.

-We’re going to go on the most epic bender of all time.

Nod, nod. Fading. Closed eyes.

-Not to kill yourself though, right?

-What? No! Where the hell did you get that idea?

Kids from England about their age on screen, theater, high, and Mac and Charlie high too. Someone near-dead with a needle in his wrist, but security came and dragged them out for being rowdy so he never learned what happened next.

-That train movie.

-Trainspotting?

Mac sold heroin the day after they saw the train movie to pay the rent and if you’re judging me Charlie you should take a long look at yourself first.

-I think? Everyone was English and it was kinda weird. . .

-This is nothing like Trainspotting. It’s gonna be badass.

Nod, nod, nod.

-Can I take a nap before we start? This glue is knocking me out.

Yawn. Fade, fade, fade.

-I guess? I gotta go uh. . .pack my stuff.

A tight voice. Nod, nod. Yawn.

-Okay. I’m in. Let’s go on a bender.

*

Christmas or the day after (or after that?) was the first time Charlie huffed glue. Eight (?) and his socks were made of wool (Uncle Jack’s and Charlie wouldn’t have worn them if he had clean ones but his mom was very busy with her Santas so there wasn’t any laundry). Anyway, Uncle Jack and his hands were gone and glue was in Charlie’s nose. He was warm.

Cocaine wasn’t like that at all. Numb gums like the only time he went to the dentist (got a toothbrush and a sticker and never went again). Powerful and smart like-

-Who’s the guy with the weird hair? The really smart one.

Mac was drinking so fast that he might drown (almost did, once, in the pool where Jaime Nelson died but it wasn’t from beer in his lungs just his stomach).

-Einstein?

Voice was hoarse and his eyes were red but he was high, not crying, and liquor had burned his throat.

-Yeah, dude.

Another drink.

-Why?

Wet under Charlie’s nose (nosebleeds when he was a kid too and his mom wore rubber gloves when she wiped them away but she wasn't here now because he hadn't been answering her calls so his shirt was dirty).

\- You think he ever did cocaine?

Drunken smile, like old times (sixteen (?) when he saw a poster of Einstein in a pawn shop and Mac read the caption to him out loud, something about God that Mac said was utter bullshit).

-Definitely.

*

Red eyes, oxy-soft, in, out, heavy breaths. Dinosaur movie ended and the screen was static but Mac didn’t notice, stared at the white noise as if it had a story. Charlie’s fingers smelled and tasted like weed. Got scolded for eating it pure but it was Mac’s fault cos you’re bad at stealing when you’re on meth dude, no poker face at all, and we don’t have any money for brownie mix. Besides, it tastes fine this way. Like a salad. Do we have any ranch dressing?

-I would’ve won that fight if I had tried.

Slack mouth, yawn. Small shadow (when had he lost weight?) and they were out of beer.

-No, you wouldn’t have, dude. That guy was enormous.

Out of weed too but there was cough syrup in the cabinet which Charlie preferred anyway except for how people told him to stop drinking that, Charlie, that’s disgusting.

-I had a good pump on that day.

Carpet brushed against his feet, soft from Mac’s energetic vacuuming (mom vacuumed the ceiling and folded her laundry in squares but not Charlie’s shirt because he hadn’t answered the phone). Six bottles of cough syrup in the cabinet and Charlie took two.

-You’ve never had as good of a pump as that guy.

Bottle thrown at Mac. Bounced against his arm, wrinkled nose.

-First off, that’s bullshit, and second - I’m not drinking cough syrup.

Shrug.

-More for me.

*

Colors? Colors. sroloC. Here Mac was, all in colors ha! Did he know??? Dizzy. Ugh.

-Feel like I’m gonna throw up.

Sounds ears in his rough. Heavy tongue.

-No shit. You drank enough cough syrup to kill an elephant.

Syrup, syrup, syrup. Syyyyyyyruppppp. Melting with butter and sweet, his mom and he was five (?) it outside snowed but warm stomach.

-Don’t remember eatin’ pancakes.

-Jesus Christ.

_Hot cross buns. Hot buns cross. One a penny, seven pennies. . .dun duh duh._

Instrument and it shrieked but Charlie was good he was seven. Firm in hand. He raise to mouth. . .gone, enog, oneg.

_Ask Mac if you eat buns._

-I eat buns?

-You didn’t eat anything.

Burn throat. Taste sour.

_You’re going to throw up now, Charlie._

-Why am I gonna throw up?

-Not on the carpet!

*

Sprawled on the floor, ceiling stains contorting like friendly clouds (wasn't high or they’d yell at him, Charlie time to die, and he’d have to get a knife and did he have one anymore or did they give it away for some 40s?)

-I’m just saying some of the best days of our lives were getting high in that planetarium dude.

Sigh.

-Charlie, you know if those stupid science bitches weren’t there I’d say yes. But I’m not in the mood for bullshit right now. I got enough going on, you know?

Red eyes (high or sad?), thin voice (sad), skunk stench (high), high _and_ sad, hair mussed (when had he washed it?) Dirt behind his ear and smudged on his cheek (unshowered). Unwashed clothes (called his mom but the phone rang, rang, rang to a dial tone).

-Yeah.

*

ALIENS green, everywhere, see Charlie couldn’t but feel, yes. His heart drum, drum, drum, and ache back, kidneys? Again, again, again. More smoke. He could be anyone but he wasn’t. On a table and knife was saw there ereht and big eyes but no, down on earth and his kidneys still here. Why want him? Leave his body up and down and so scared, dead weight arms, legs, see himself, dead and reborn and ALIENS, touching his feet, stop, stop, _stop_.

-Charlie, wake up.

aWAKE.

-If you asshole aliens try to take my kidneys one more time, I swear to GOD-

Hand on his shoulder. Red eyes.

-Easy, man! It’s just me.

Heart DUN DUN DUN DUN to dun dun dun dun. Breathe out.

-Good. I got abducted like four times last night and I’m really tired of it.

Drool-coated baggie unstuck from his face, inspected.

-Holy shit. It looks like you did enough PCP last night to kill a guy ten times your size.

Flashes of green, black eyes, tables, pain. Sharp lungs. _Oh._

-Shit. It’s all coming back to me. I think the aliens made me smoke all of the PCP, Mac.

-That didn’t happen.

So vivid and how didn’t he see last night. . .

-But moving on - I’m starving. We should get breakfast.

Outside, outside, outside, and the aliens were waiting and Charlie didn’t have a knife because he gave it to a homeless guy for some 40s.

-Can’t go outside. The aliens will find me.

Kathunk, kathunk. Two pills on the pillow and red eyes, frustrated.

-Take those. You won’t ever worry about anything again.

*

Sixteen (?) and high in suburbia. Charlie and Mac were hungry; Dennis was asleep and he’d never say yes to them driving his rover so Charlie, we should hotwire the car and fix it when we get back. Orange to yellow, red to red, black to red, and nothing worked until Dennis woke up and yelled about gutting them until he was hoarse but he didn’t mean it so after they drank mimosas and read dirty magazines until the sun came up.

Anyway, it worked this time because Mac was driving them to the park and singing along to Sweet Caroline which didn’t really fit because the car was going 90!

-AAAAAAAH!!!!

Red-eyed and glazed (sad or high?), he lost things like time, if Charlie had more clocks this wouldn’t happen. Time in the car was broken cos they’d snipped the cord by mistake and fuck that’s why Mac wasn’t here! Fumbling hands, rustling bags, fries tipping onto the floor. Where was the clock wire?

Heavy breathing.

-Charlie, what’s happening?

*

Joint passed back and forth (like middle school (?) and the two of them cutting geometry because Charlie liked triangles but he liked Mac more).

-What do you think Dennis is up to right now?

Ketchup on Mac’s face, a thumb wiped it off and in his mouth (still some on the corner and on his shirt too but that was from yesterday or the day before because Charlie hadn’t called his mom and Mac’s hadn’t picked up the phone).

-I dunno. Probably something like. . .shit, what’s that movie about animals in college?

-Are you thinking of Animal House? Because there are no animals in that movie.

Gorilla in a toga and Charlie laughed through his glue high.

-I’m. . .pretty sure that’s not true.

-Jesus Christ. It’s called Animal House because the people in the frat act like animals and you know what, God, I don’t know why I’m trying to explain this. Just pass me the weed.

Two hits, pass it over. Laugh.

-Why were you thinking about Dennis anyway?

A hit, thin stream of smoke. Cough.

-He used to buy this kind of kush off me, but he stopped a while back. Got really into coke, I think. I was in short supply, so. . .

-Cash flow dried up?

Exhale, closed eyes, swallow (dry mouth or sad?)

-Yeah.

Sigh, bite. Burger was getting cold (Dennis went to fancy burger places unless he was too drunk to remember what he hated).

-See, Dennis doesn’t even get us, man. . .

*

Doorbell. I’s late so prolly don’t wanna ring, rite? But gotta get. . .someone. Not ALL people inside. Tha’s why Charlie left Mac. . .smashed beer bottles were gonna wake everyone up. Wrong person could come outside. How they get satisfaction that way?

-Doorbell, can you get me th’ one person I need?

Keyhole moving, i’s a mouth! Like that one cartoon. . .

- _No, Charlie. I’m sorry! That’s not how I work!_

Talk’n furniture was always lazy as shit.

-You didn’t even try, though!

_-I have no arms or legs!_

GODDAMMIT.

-So grow em! I’s not hard!

_-People are watching. I have to go. Good luck!_

Stuck finger in keyhole - maybe open its mouth? NOTHING.

-YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE! I HOPE YOU GO TO DOORBELL HELL. AND ANOTHER THING, MR. DOORBELL, IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME, YOU ARE FUCKING UGLY AS SHIT -

Door opened and. . .Dennis! Ha. . .pajama bottoms. . .no shirt. . .tool.

-Charlie? What the hell are you doing here?

Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. One Dennis, two Dennis. One doorbell, five.

-Hi, Dennis! Did you know that your doorbell is, like, a huge dick?

Dizzy, dIZzy, dizzzzzzzy, **BLACK**.

*

Sweet, sour, purple, everywhere. Mac and Dennis sitting back to back and throwing rocks one, two, three, four as Charlie gagged and gagged. How much more was left? Wiped mouth with the back of hand. Lame high - puked up most of it. Goddammit.

-I think it’s all out!

Dennis (red eyes, high, did Dennis get sad?) gave him a thumbs up without looking at him and kept bitching to Mac about girls. Rocks crunched as he walked over, one beer left, so he grabbed it and opened it with his teeth (scraped his lip and he bled, there was ketchup on his shirt and it matched because he hadn’t called his mom so he was dirty).

Mac rubbed his (red) eyes.

-I feel you, dude. I can’t get a job at any liquor store now because one mistake gave me a bad name. This bitch is the same way. The world is full of assholes who lie and that’s just how it is.

Fuck, he was still going with this (maybe didn’t remember that he’d told the story five minutes ago, he lost the pocket watch Charlie bought him at the pawn shop on 22nd and 3rd so time slipped out of his fingers a lot).

Dennis groaned, covered his face, seventeen (?) and coming down off of oxycontin he stole from his mom and my God no wonder she’s a bitch all the time, thanks Dad for cutting off her goddamn health insurance.

-Do you have any more coke?

-No. I think we bought it special cos we don’t usually have it.

Looked up at Charlie to ask for time because Charlie wore a watch so he kept it better than Mac did.

-Yeah, Z-man had a stash so we traded it for some LSD.

Got up from the rock, shaky.

-I gotta get back, then. There’s a stash in my bedroom calling my name.

*

On the floor, mouths open, steam rising from their skin (October but the heat was hanging on between pouring rain). Envelopes under Charlie’s door and Mac frowned at it with glazed (red) eyes, shit, this is an eviction notice, what are you going to do?

-How the hell were you paying for this apartment before?

Twenty (?) and Dooley in his apartment, don’t tell Mac I’m buying this, he’ll make a scene and I won’t dude, he doesn’t sell purple drank anyway.

-Same as you, dude. Selling drugs.

Red eyes, confused.

-Why did you stop?

-You wanted to do all of ‘em. I figured we’d sell just enough to keep getting more and then eventually we’d both be badass drifters.

Hands over Mac’s face.

-Jesus Christ, dude. I didn’t want both of us to be homeless!

Frustration was the worst cos he couldn’t see Mac’s (red) eyes (how could he tell if Mac had lost time?)

-No, no, no. Being a drifter is different than being homeless. Drifters wander around doing cool shit, like those books, the Carbox Kids!

Thin book with yellow pages and it had pictures inside, Charlie you can’t just describe the pictures, you have to sound out the words. Let’s go over them again, Bee, Ohh, Exx See Ayy Arr. Now you.

-Oh my God, you took that seriously. I hate you so much.

Talking to Mac was going around in circles, loop-de-loop as he ran from truths which was why his eyes were red (did he know yet?)

-. . .so you’re saying I should have sold more drugs?

-Yes!

*

Ring, ring ring. Payphone cold against his ear and Mac was leaned against a building, smoking. Night and October chill set in (jacket with holes in it and too big, it cost $3 at Goodwill but Mac stole it anyway).

-Hello?

Sigh. White puffs floated from his mouth like Mac’s cigarette.

-Hi, mom.

-Charlie! Hello! How are you?

Bright and cheery, she hadn’t been drinking or her words would slur. Mommy needs her juice time so go the hell outside.

-Not too good. Got kicked out of my apartment.

-Oh, Charlie! Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling?

Uncle Jack answered the phone sometimes, hi, Charlie, it’s been too long since we’ve palled around together, do you need to do laundry? (wool socks burned in an alley when Charlie was ten (?), they were too big and made his feet sweat).

-Doesn’t matter. Is Uncle Jack’s old room free?

-No. I needed to make ends meet, so he’s living here again. But you can share with him or take the basement!

Clang! Phone shook as it hung up and were Charlie’s fingers shaking too?

-Mom has renters. We’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.

Mac shrugged (found a watch on the street but pawned it off to buy meth which was why he lost time).

-Wanna sleep in a church again?

Dry throat, a headache.

-Let’s get some beer first.

*

-Sully! Sully! Open up!

Wet possessions in Mac’s arms and a sixer in Charlie’s fist. Door opened and Mac’s face lit up, had eyes for Sully since the day they met but Sully was too dumb to notice.

-Charlie? Mac? What are you guys doing here?

Mac peeked in the door, this is totally gonna work, Charlie, I saw it on TLC once.

-We’re looking to be involved in a sort of couch-surfing type situation.

Back straight, look professional, badass and adventurous.

-My associate and I have decided to take on the temporary role of professional drifters and we were wondering if you would like to be a part of our journey.

Sully frowned like he did when Mac showed up drunk to work it’s okay dude we all get by, I smoke weed but have you considered drinking just a little less or switching over?

-So you’re. . .homeless and you need a place to stay.

Mac’s shoulders tensed.

-No! This is a totally on purpose drifter type situation. Like the Boxcar Children but more badass.

Raised eyebrows, looking at the holes in Mac’s jacket and his unwashed hair (did he see the red eyes?)

-Sure, you can stay a few nights. Come in.

*

Baked, baked, baked with a headache. Ha! Could be a song. . .

-Mac, I think in a past life I might have been um. . .one of those guys who writes music.

Billowing smoke from Mac’s mouth.

-A composer?

Music on the TV and Charlie’s mom had said that the Bee Pee Ess was having a special day playing some guy named Bock, he was eight (?) and turned the volume up loud.

-Yeah, dude. Listen. I got a song. It’s uh. . .

Words slipped from his mind and dammit, dammit, dammit they were just there, where did they go? Laughter, a sinking feeling, move your fingers with the symbols, it’s only three notes!

-You’re so baked, man.

*

-We gotta go ask my dad to help us out.

Flat voice from huffing paint thinner and (red) eyes half-gone. Plans, which meant that he still had some time. Lying on the floor, Charlie, Charlie, he has connections, we could hit gold this time.

-Dude, every time we go, you forget why we’re there. I don’t know the first thing about negotiating with someone who wants to put heroin up my butt.

Huff, huff. Huff, huff.

-I’m not gonna forget this time. I swear.

Cold prison and Mac wobbled in with a smile, hi, dad, it’s been a while and I have something to tell you, it’s, uh. . .

-You’re getting blackout high on paint thinner, dude.

Laugh. Huff, huff.

-So are you.

Red eyes glazed between blackouts and he didn’t laugh, Sully had TV but Happy Gilmore hadn’t been on. Clocks all over the apartment but Mac wasn’t looking at them which is why he kept losing time.

-Yeah, but even between blackouts you’re just. . .checked out, man. Like, what month is it?

Tried to remember by looking at the ceiling, he should have looked at the clocks instead but he was always forgetting.

-September?

Charlie shook his head, two months off (maybe Mac needed a calendar too).

-It’s October 22, dude.

Hand ran through his hair as he processed the information. Red eyes, softer (no crying most days unless he was on cough syrup which made him sob, maybe that was why he didn’t like it very much).

-My birthday is the 24th.

Thirteen (?) and Charlie baked cupcakes which Mac said was gay so he pushed one into Mac’s face and put him in a headlock.

Huge grin appeared on Mac’s face (clear eyes, still a little time).

-You gotta go with me to see my dad as a present.

*

Cupcakes nearly done, chocolate with chocolate frosting (Mac’s birthday but he didn’t notice, just smoked weed and forgot he was 21). Mac sleeping on the floor and Dennis was (red eyes) staring. Sully was buying balloons, what was Mac’s favorite color? Just get anything, he won’t give a shit.

Hiss of a beer bottle, volume turned down on cartoons (so many noises all the time but he could hear cos these weren’t the ones that made him want the knife he sold for some 40s).

-Is he gonna be awake for his own birthday party?

Sigh.

-I never even know, man.

Pink party hat tilted on his head and no these are definitely the ones I want, look at how bright the colors are! We have to buy them.

-Whats up with him, anyway? I know you’re on a drug bender or some shit but he’s like a goddamn zombie.

Twitching in his sleep and the party hat slid over his eye.

-I think he forgets to look at clocks, so he loses track of time a lot.

Eyebrows raised, the _look._

-Riiiight.

*

Pocket watch gripped gently in Mac’s hand (found on the street, dirty but they washed it in Sully’s sink. Good as new.) Raining, so they took shelter in a convenience store but it’s barely drizzling, you only want to steal cough syrup and mouthwash.

Merch lined Charlie’s pockets, slosh, slosh, slosh.

-Are you sure you want to sell that, dude?

Confused (red eyes, high?) look.

-This is a great find. Why the hell wouldn’t I want to sell it?

Over and over and over again.

-You sell all of the watches you find and, I dunno, it seems like you should keep at least one. I mean, this is a quality watch.

-Is this the weird time thing again?

-. . .no.

Shook his head (frustration was stockpiled for Charlie, sometimes he imagined slapping him in the face but Mac could take him in a fight and he wasn’t in the mood for a black eye).

-Goddammit. We need this money really badly. Stop being a weirdo and help me come up with a plan to pawn this off.

*

-AYOOOOOOOOOOO

Door open annnnnn Dennis, swea-ty, with frown.

-Where the hell were you guys? I thought you were gonna help me move!

BURP.

-We are. . .we brought, umn. . .

Bag o’ weed an Mac. . .grin.

-We brought the party!

Sigh.

-Okay. Come in.

*

-You fucker!

Startled awake, Sully kicked Mac in the stomach. Gasping, gasping.

-What the fuck?

High pitched and stomach sinking, Charlie you can’t tell anyone. . .

-I’ve let you stay here for three weeks and you repay me by sleeping with my sister?

Locked eyes (they were eleven (?) and the police caught them smoking in an alley, run, run, run!)

*

-You can’t use the last quarter to call your dad, dude. I don’t wanna sleep in churches anymore. I have to call my mom.

Confused, frustrated, red, glazed eyes. High and sad like snakes wrapped around Mac and goddammit, did he know how to have fun? On the Bee Pee Ess there was a show about Big Ben and if that clock was in Philly, Mac would know it was November and that Charlie was cold.

-Okay.

Last quarter, cold in Charlie’s palm. Numbers stuck as he pressed them.

-Hello?

-Hi, mom.

-Oh, Charlie! I’ve been so worried! Where are you? Are you okay?

Sky getting lighter and Mac’s fingers held to his mouth (habit, cigarettes too expensive).

-I’m fine. Just wondering if Uncle Jack’s old room was free?

-As a matter of fact, it is! He left Philadelphia a few weeks ago. Something about work?

Fist unclenched from Charlie’s heart. Looked over at Mac and gave him thumbs up but he kept smoking his imaginary cigarette and watching the sky turn to morning.

-That’s great! Can I move in. . .tomorrow night?

-Anything for my Charlie boy.

*

Rooom dark stars. Dooley, Charlie, Mac, Planet. . .plan net. . .pla-net-a-rium. Waited, wait-ed, detiwa, now. . .here.

_-Our solar system formed about four and a half billion years ago._

Dot, dot, dot an Mac, a laugh.

-That’s such bullshit.

Years ago. Y e a r s. No clock just pass ssap an float away.

-Shh, dude. Just look at the stars.

_-We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever._

So manyy clocks lost - pock et watch, wrist watch, Sully, hsi apartment. Mac, the butterfly, days are forever. September, October, November, the same. Flutter, flutter in out of day into forever. Charlie counting days, hard counting, 1,2,3, Mac be tter wthi number, but butterflies don’t count. Stars expand, big, and Charlie, small.

-I feel so small right now, man.

-That’s the awesome power of God blowing your mind, Charlie. He made the sun and the sky and the earth and one day he’ll blow it all up and we’ll go to heaven.

_-From the point of view of a star, a human being is a tiny flash, one of billions of brief lives._

Mac saw being human in flash, brief life, why he didn’t know September, October, November. St ars didn’t need a clock, just they were, if Charlie could dluoc step in Mac’s head he say Mac, you re not a star. You need clocks! Red eyes can see, humans can, star can’t. Be here!

He didn’t know. His thoughts, God. Mac forgot to read clocks, red eyes, high, sad, and his mom ring, ring, ring - God’s plan? Why. . .

-Do you think God has a plan for us. Or do you think God looks at us like that star? Like, do we matter at all?

Slow breath.

-Shit, dude. I dunno. I think He has to look at us sometimes, and He definitely cares about some stuff but. . .He’s got a lot on his mind, I bet.

God’s plan. . .somewhere else. In scary world, Mac’s clocks didn t tdnit matter.

Fourteen (?) and Mac said we w ill alwa ys bounce bac k, Charlie. Believe me.

-War and hunger and kids in Africa probably take up a lot of His mind, I think.

Nod, nod.

-What do you think, Dooley?

Shake, shake. _Shit._

-Dooley? Wake up, buddy!

Nothing.

-Shit, is he dead?

Fourteen, fourteen, fourteen, we will a lways alw ays a l w a y s bounce back, we w ILL.

-I think so. What do we do?

Always answer the same.

-Run.

*

Bed made, neat, corners. Smoking a joint, back and forth, back and forth.

-Can’t believe Dennis and I found an apartment with two bedrooms so fast.

Wisps of smoke like cold air at a payphone (twenty-one (?) and Mac wore a jacket with holes that he stole from Goodwill.)

-I can. He’s loaded, dude.

Smile.

-I know. It’s great. I didn’t even have to cosign. Pass me the joint.

Inhale, exhale.

-Did you have fun on our bender? Like, did you enjoy yourself and shit?

Eyes on the ground (faded red and twenty-one (?) did Mac remember his birthday?)

Inhale, inhale, inhale, exhale.

-Yeah. I had the time of my life.

**Author's Note:**

> I caved due to friendship and karate and have a tumblr now. speciesinfluenzae.tumblr.com. Feel free to squee/cry/yell at me about trash in my inbox.


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